Dying Embers

[Beholder 372]

 

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Chill night air blew in from the open window of the stone apartment that an old Dwarf called home. She sat upon the cold stone of the only “furniture” in the room, a solitary Golem anvil. With a metallic hand, she absently traced the sigil engraved on its center. In her other hand was a nearly empty bottle.

 

This was not an uncommon state for the Dwarf. Of late there was scarcely a moment she was fully sober. Self medication, she jokingly called it. It was the only way she could get to sleep, the only thing that dulled the constant pain of her joints.

 

She shifted in her seat, the simple movement causing her to ache. Gods she was tired. Briga was sleeping more and more, but it never felt like enough. Her sleep had never been particularly restful. The Dwarf had been plagued by nightmares and night terrors most of her life, but now…

 

Briga’s eyes were twin orbs of flame, their glow the only light in the dark room. She looked upon the empty bottles littering the floor. With a final swig of the whiskey in her hand, another joined their ranks.

 

Slowly, the Dwarf laid down upon the anvil. Beds were too soft for her to find comfortable, she’d found. Yet still sleep failed to claim her. Her eyes remained open, staring at the wall. Even with the drink in her system, her heartbeat was swift. An existential fear she dare not speak aloud cycled in her mind.

 

Her body was failing. With every rest becoming longer, how much longer would it be until there came a rest from which she would never awake?

 

Though she was loath to admit it, she was afraid. Terrified. Though she’d taken steps to ensure this would not be her final end, she had never died before.

 

The unknown kept her awake more than her chronic insomnia, and even with the aid of spirits it proved elusive. She was so tired. Every day she felt slower, her mind foggier. Her body was failing and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

 

Briga’s eyelids gradually drifted shut. The glow of her eyes fading and her thoughts becoming unfocussed. Finally the oblivion of the sleep she dreaded called to her. She was too far gone to worry any longer.

 

…

 

The heat of midday woke Briga from her slumber. She had slept far too long, yet still not enough. Her head felt like someone had jammed a metal spike into it.

 

Slowly, painfully, the Dwarf rose to her feet. She was so tired.

 

But no, not yet… Not yet.